Belonging
by d0vahkiin
Summary: Vilkas and his twin brother Farkas have their lives shattered by a Necromancy Cult. This story is going to detail their coming of age and eventual acceptance within the Companions and the wolfpack. Not Dovahkiin-centric, sorry guys.
1. Lost and Found

"Forgive me, Harbinger," Arnbjorn drawled, "but I had thought we were tracking Silver Hand. Not Winterhold College flunkies!"

Kodlak Whitemane sighed, "Plans change, Arn. Don't let your inner beast rule your thoughts."

Arnbjorn growled, but resolved to obey by telling his beast he was in the presence of an Alpha, even if he himself did not yet believe it.

"Yes, Harbinger. It's just that I had my hopes on collecting a few more Silver swords for Eorlund to melt down."

"Unfortunately, Jergen was quite insistent that we deal with these rogue magic users immediately. He believes they pose a serious threat to Whiterun. Who knows how long they've had to strengthen, unbeknownst to any of us!"

And with that, Kodlak fell silent. Arnbjorn knew better than to argue. The previous Harbinger had passed away peacefully in his sleep, and even if that sounded like a milk-drinker's way to go to Sovngarde, Arnbjorn would have preferred HIS judgment. Still, he knew that his late mentor would not have named Kodlak Whitemane to succeed him without faith in the man.

The pair moved through the underbrush of a forest with a speed befitting wild creatures and not men. The moon's steady light guided them to put not a single footstep out of place. Finally they came to a break in the trees near the base of a mountain. The area around here was littered with caves, but finding the right one could prove to be a challenge.

Arnbjorn's bitter thoughts were interrupted by the new Harbinger at that moment- "Look!" he exclaimed, "There's Jergen with the signal. He's found the rogue mages."

Arnbjorn sniffed the air's heavy coppery tang with his wolf senses. The fresh blood smells awoke his wolf's hunger. Probably the elder man's wolf was roused too, but Kodlak did a better job of ignoring it.

"And slaughtered them all by his damned self, it smells like!" Arn added with tones of envy.

Jergen rushed through the underbrush of the forest to meet them, a look of grave concern etched on his normally jovial face. Arnbjorn noted that his blond hair was matted with blood and his armor was torn and reeked of old death, not just the recent kills. The nauseating smell of decay assailed the werewolves' noses, but Jergen appeared to have simply gotten used to it.

"Harbinger. Arn." He nodded respectfully.

"How bad was it?" the mentor asked gravely.

Arnbjorn made an air waving gesture. "Certainly as bad as you smell?"

The others chose to ignore the remark.

"Oh Kodlak, I had no choice but to become a beast. I was found out at my camp before I managed to infiltrate the caverns." Jergen gave his mentor a defeated look before continuing with a less apologetic tone. "But, I took every last one of them down."

Jergen hesitated, and Arn knew something had been left out. Kodlak obviously sensed the same thing.

"What say you, Jergen? Would this enclave of mages have put Whiterun in danger?"

He nodded solemnly. "I found a map of Whiterun's walls with the weak points. They have already been harming our city. Those missing people throughout the recent months didn't just wander off. They were kidnapped and harvested for body parts. They were no ordinary mages. This was a necromancy guild."

Despite the hearty constitution that came with being a lycanthrope, Arnbjorn paled. He knew some of the missing people. His own cousin's wife was among them. An aspiring herbalist, she was assumed to have been attacked by a giant or bear while herb gathering for her potion-making side business 4 months prior. Her shop had lain empty for 3 months, but a woman called Arcadia from Cyrodiil had purchased the vacant building. Seeing his kin's shop being run by a foreigner was a scrape to the wound every day. This news of necromancy was like pulling the scab clean off of the wound.

"Kodlak, that's not all. I have found something to show you," Jergen said, his white teeth biting his dirty bottom lip.

The Harbinger smiled at Jergen reassuringly and said simply, "Lead the way."

The men followed Jergen silently back to his own campsite. A tent of skins tied up among trees sat obscured by foliage. The remains of a fire were smoldering as they approached.

Arnbjorn smelled a stranger's scent within the tent, piquing his curiosity. He did not have long to wait, because Jergen immediately pulled the patched hide tent flap aside to reveal two sleeping, nearly identical boys of about 10. Both lads were clothed in new, but overly large tunics and trews tied in with rope. The clothes were a kindness from Jergen to be sure. They also had a sickly pallor that suggested neither had been out into the sunshine in months, although to be fair, caked in as much dirt is they were wearing, it was hard to see skin at all.

Jergen gently lifted the smaller boy's shirt to show Kodlak the bruises along the rib cage, a rib cage that should not be so prominent in a growing boy.

"This lad calls himself Vilkas. He's a ready mind, and was able to fill me in on all of the gruesome details. The bigger boy is Farkas. He kept quiet, and let Vilkas do the talking, but it didn't seem to be out of fear." Jergen smiled affectionately at the boys.

"I had to burn the stinking rags I found them in. I had no other clothing to fit a child, let alone two children."

Kodlak nodded somberly. "You've done well. But by the gods! Where did you come upon these half-starved pups?"

"It was terrible Kodlak. They were in cages. They've told me they were subjected to the cruelest of treatment. They were forced to endure beatings, blood rituals, twin experiments, and to partake in acts of cannibalism."

Arnbjorn whistled through his teeth. "Let's get them to Whiterun. The Jarl's steward will know if someone has an open home for two boys. Maybe we can even locate kin. I'd hate to see them separated, or worse, sent to Honorhall," he said, recalling his own early childhood in Riften's prominent orphanage. And these boys had endured more than the simple cruelty of abandonment. Their little lives must have been torturous.

Kodlak nodded knowingly, but was secretly pleased with Arnbjorn's attitude change from earlier. It seemed to be the first agreement the two had had since Arnbjorn had come to the Jorrvaskr. Smiling, he absently stroked the matted black hair on each sleeping child. Some of it would have to be cut out. Tilma would be able to handle it. And the old woman would love to fuss over the foundlings until a proper home would be set up for them. In this moment, he realized that getting the two to Whiterun to be fed and bathed was now the utmost priority. Only then would the extent of their illness and injury be evident. Hopefully Guira would come over from the Temple of Kynareth to administer a proper treatment to the children.

Only one thing was bothering the Harbinger. Not one to let a problem fester in his mind, he asked, "Jergen? Did either of our young friends here see you in your bestial shape?"

Jergen smiled and shook his head no. "Only by the grace of Talos, I had become myself again before I got near their room."

Relieved, Kodlak nodded at Jergen and Arnbjorn to help him break camp and wake the boys.

Now to deal with the problems at hand and Kodlak Whitemane would sleep better knowing his hometown was safer for not having this Necromancer's Guild in proximity. And of course, the coin the Jarl promised as bounty would surely be welcome around Jorrvaskr.


	2. Healing

It was a scant few days since the twins, Farkas and Vilkas had been rescued from the unspeakable horrors they'd called a life for the past year. Every Companion had heard their story at least once.

Kodlak had sent word to the Jarl notifying him that he had found the twins and was nursing them back to health. The Jarl and his Steward began a search the likes of which Whiterun Hold had never seen to locate the parents of the boys. He also sent a good bit of gold to the Companions for extermination of the coven, and to assist Jorrvaskr with the unaccustomed cost of child caring. To the delight of all, there was never even the first word of carting the boys to the dreadful Riften orphanage. To be fair, Tilma was doing the caring. Not many of these skilled warriors were good with children, especially two in such delicate states of mind and body. The older housekeeper was delighted to dote on the foundlings and took to the added work with a zeal that suggested to Kodlak that it was not work, but her life's calling.

Actually, Farkas had less physical injury to his body, and had already volunteered to help with the daily chores around Jorrvaskr. Vilkas was in less than stellar shape. His sharp tongue had earned him more punishments than his quieter brother, and it was possibly only his value as a twin that had kept him spared from a death at the hands of cruel necromancers.

At present, Vilkas was on strict bed rest with confirmed broken ribs. As expected, a healer from Temple Kynareth had visited and set everything to healing correctly. Now, only time could do the rest of the job.

"I'm so bored!" Vilkas complained bitterly to Tilma.

The old maid was fussing about him and straightening his pillows as she pretended she had only come in to clean the rooms.

Tilma immediately felt sympathy for the youngster. Young boys should be up and about playing and getting exercise. This must be like prison for him. "Well my lad, you're not to jostle about until you're better. I've an idea though. Can you read?"

Vilkas' pale eyes lit up like the sky on a sunny day. "Of course, I can! I love reading."

"Really? That's wonderful. Your parents did so make a wonderful choice in keeping up with your education. Reading, you will find, can serve even the most battle-hardened warrior in Skyrim!"

Farkas, who was in the room visiting his brother, pulled a face. "I hate to read."

"You can at least get up without help. I think you'd enjoy reading if it was the only thing you had to do," pointed out Vilkas with envy.

"Maybe." But Farkas answer was unconvincing.

Tilma entered the room before Vilkas even noticed she had left. Her arms were full of books, which she laid on the table at the side of the bed.

"You enjoy these books. I've had many of them since I was your age!"

Both boys exchanged a glance that clearly betrayed their mutual thought: "When was Tilma ever our age?"

"Come along dearie, your brother needs peace." With that, she left the room leading Farkas to help her with the fire pits.

Vilkas sat in silence for a moment before gingerly reaching for the nearest book. He read the title aloud. "Olaf and the Dragon. Dragons. Humph! What rubbish."

Still, a fairy tale would be as pleasant a way to spend time as any other, so he cracked the book open and set to reading it.

* * *

><p>In the coming days, Vilkas quickly devoured every book offered to him in the Jorrvaskr. He began to worry that he would have to resort to reading them a second time. To his delight, Kodlak came into his room with the healer again, who pronounced him fit to stand.<p>

"Just don't let that brother of yours rough you up too badly!" said the healer on a parting note.

"Farkas? Rough me up? It wasn't him that did this." Vilkas' dark brows became furrowed in confusion.

Kodlak chuckled, a hearty sound that reminded Vilkas of a favorite uncle from his old life. "It's a joke. Your brother has found favor with the whelps here in Jorrvaskr. After he's done with chores, they often share moves with him. He picks up techniques quite well. I daresay there's not a training dummy in the entire yard that doesn't fear young Farkas and his wooden sword."

Vilkas was too stunned to say a thing. Farkas had not told him he was learning to fight. Or that he had potential skills. Sudden concern for his safety erupted in his mind.

"You don't let him... face other Companions?"

Again, Kodlak smiled warmly. "No lad. That's madness. But, your brother would have applied to join the Companions already if he had his way. I can see a fire in his eyes. Fortunately for you both, we're not in the practice of admitting lanky 10 year olds to our ranks."

"Well, how old does he have to be before you'll take him?"

Kodlak was no fool. He could see the gears turning in Vilkas' head, mentally calculating how long they could expect to be here. So he answered the boy's REAL question first.

"We're not going to _throw_ you out of Jorrvaskr. If you want to leave to another family's home of your own accord, that is fine with everyone. Conversely, if you wish to stay here, it can be arranged. You lads have found favor with almost every resident here. Especially with Jergen. If your parents are located, it will be a different story. If you like, your brother, and yourself for that matter are quite welcome to return when you reach the age of majority and apply to be tested."

The relief that flooded Vilkas' normally broody face said it all.

"So just how old do you have to be to join?" The Harbinger continued, "Well the youngest we've ever tested was about 18 years old. Many of our applicants are about 20-27. It's also not often that we get older people just up and decide to join. Most of the older folk here have been here for years."

"I'm eternally grateful to you all for everything you've done for us. I might like to learn more about what it is to be a Companion one day." Vilkas bowed his head to Kodlak respectfully, dark strands of hair falling into his face.

"Don't sweat it anyway. 8 years is a long time, boy. You might want to be a Priest to one of the Nine Divines, or Join the Bard's College in Solitude. I hear you're quite the bookworm."

Vilkas shrunk down in his seat at the nickname 'Bookworm.' That was what Ma and Da had called him. Where could they be? Had they given up hope that the twins would be found after a year missing? Had they started some new life alone?

Kodlak's wolf could scent the negative mood change in Vilkas, so he abruptly changed the topic. "Dinner is soon. You're expected to arrive with hands scrubbed to the elbows, like everyone else. I expect you're hungry for real food instead of the soups you ate as an invalid."

Though Vilkas hadn't been thinking of food yet, his stomach growled wildly at the mention of it.

"You know, I think I'm as hungry as a wolf."

Kodlak smiled as his own stomach rumbled, thinking, 'If only you knew!'

**Author's Note:**

**This started off a little slow, but expect some action/drama to pick up in the next chapter. I wanted to lay a groundwork, and I am not very accustomed to writing fiction. Typically I write papers/essays, so dialogue is clunky for me to maneuver. Also, I have had problem with essays in that I tend to be too descriptive. But alas, here in fiction I am finding it difficult to be descriptive enough! I think I've found the cure for tedious descriptions! (For me at least!) Just add dialogue. =O**

**Review away if you have advice, I'd love some pointers.**

**This is kind of how I imagined the twins coming to the Jorrvaskr according to what little of the lore I know. Now that that is out of my head, let the fun begin.**


	3. Mourning

_Dreaming._

_There was blood all around the room. It dripped down the walls, ran into indentions in the floor. The smell was unbearable, weeks of human decay, urine, feces and hot blood._

_A cup was being proffered to him._

_"Drink," he was commanded._

_Farkas had no choice but to obey as the cup was pressed to his lips. As the coppery blood passed his lips, he fought an urge to vomit and lost. He'd eaten little, but bile came up and flushed the blood in his mouth out with it. He crumpled to the floor dry heaving and sobbing. His brother could do nothing to help him. Vilkas was caged in the next room._

_Farkas' captor swore and flung the goblet against the cavern wall where it shattered and left a bloody trail to the ground. The man kicked the child as he lay on a heap on the floor. He kept kicking and kicking..._

Suddenly Farkas awoke. The first rays of sun came streaming in the window. He was in a firm bed at Jorrvaskr. Not that terrible cave. His brother's snores reminded him that he was not alone. That dream of the attempt to force a blood ritual onto him was only a dream and memory; A memory that was now four years in the past. The boys were now 14 years old and still living at Jorrvaskr. No trace of their parents had been located. It was a wound that might never heal fully, but they were counted as family at the Jorrvaskr so they would never be without a home and family.

Wiping his bleary eyes, Farkas climbed out of his tangled sheets and crossed the room to the basin. Tilma had left him some warm water in the washbasin. It was still half warm, at least. So he washed his face and dressed quickly for breakfast. He did a quick headcount at breakfast to see how many Companions were up. He was dismayed to see that Jergen was STILL not back from his latest job. He was supposed to be taking care of some bandits in the Rift with Arnbjorn.

Tilma walked by with a pitcher of sweet fruit juice to set on the table. Farkas poured himself a little before speaking.

"Did Jergen or Arnbjorn get home last night?"

"No dear. It is unlike them to be so late. It's already been twice as long as they anticipated the job taking."

Farkas didn't need to be reminded. Jergen was like a father to him. He'd been training the boys up in hopes of making Companions out of them one day. That was their life's ambition. To not know if Jergen would make it back was as crippling a blow as losing his first set of parents again.

Vilkas trudged up the stairs and plopped irritably into the chair beside his brother. He was not a morning person, but what adolescent is, really? The boys ate quickly and helped Tilma clear the tables before heading outside to chop firewood. An hour into the task, Farkas finally spoke.

"I'm worried about Jergen."

"Try not to worry. He's capable. He's in the Circle, and he's with Arnbjorn," replied Vilkas sternly.

"Do you think Kodlak will send a search party for him and Arnbjorn?"

"I think not. He is a proud Companion who needs no rescuing!" Vilkas said definitively.

As it turned out, a search was not necessary. A clamor arose from within the building, interrupting them. They dropped their axes and the twins raced in through the back door.

Kodlak had returned, and Arnbjorn. They were carrying something- no, someone. Farkas' heart sank as his worst fear was realized. It was Jergen. His long blond hair was soaked through with blood. His armor was all in shambles and blood-soaked. His green eyes were open in a fixed gaze at the ceiling, unseeing.

"No!" Vilkas cried and ran to the man they viewed as a father.

"Stay back!" Kodlak roared with a ferocity they had never seen. "If you touch this blood you will live to regret it."

Vilkas stopped. "Is he going to make it?" But he already knew the answer.

Arnbjorn shook his head sadly. "Lads, he tried to hold on, but he passed as we entered the city."

Skjor had turned from the broken body to address the boys.

"It will be best if you go to your room. I will be in to speak with you shortly."

They obeyed, with stunned silent and with pale faces.

* * *

><p>Skjor sighed as he threw the last of the rags into the fire. No chance of any of Jergen's beast blood contaminating anyone. The inner Circle had prepared the body, and Eorlund was going to oversee the cremation at the Skyforge.<p>

Now Kodlak Whitemane had the very uncomfortable duty of finding out just what happened. Arnbjorn had retold the story at least ten times, and no one could make sense of how this had happened.

"We arrived in Riften according to schedule. We freshened up our supplies and headed further east where we were told bandits had set up in the mountains. When we got to the mountains, we found not bandits, but Silver Hand. They had silver weapons. When they attacked, our flesh could not heal, even with potions. There were so many of them. We beat a hasty retreat but they'd followed. We found a friend of yours, and he lent that horse. I brought Jergen to the plains. He begged me to get him home with his last breaths. Then there you were at the stables, Kodlak. And we carried him in as he died."

Kodlak shook his head. "I know, Arn. I'm sorry. I'm just failing to understand how a report of bandits ended up being a trap by the Silver Hand."

Arnbjorn huffed. "It's simple enough to me. They sent a phony report in and got some goon to offer us the coin to take care of it. We don't exactly pre-screen offers."

"The Companions have never turned down a job!"

"And look where it's gotten us. We've lost TWO Circle members in the past months. Remember, Anise?"

Kodlak sadly recalled the flame-haired huntress, who left behind a husband and daughter after falling to Silver Hand members two months ago.

"Well Arnbjorn, what do you propose we do about it?"

"We admit some new members. We test their mettle. We expand the Circle to include more than me, you and Skjor. Then we bring the hunt to the Silver Hand. We should focus only on eliminating those cruel werewolf murderers. While we at it, we should get the Vigilantes of Stendarr too!"

"Easy, Arn. You're letting yourself get carried away. But I do think you're right about one thing. It is time for some new blood."

Skjor tried as best he could to comfort the twins, but they, to his surprise, didn't want to approach the topic. Following their lead, he left to see if Eorlund's pyre was ready.

It was. And Tilma, divines bless her, had arranged for all of the Jorrvaskr's alcohol to be out. Tonight's memorial would be a celebration of Jergen's life. His kindness, his heroics, all would be fondly recalled. It was time for strong mead and tales of their fallen friend.

The boys were not normally included in such activities due to their age. Skjor felt that this time was different.

"This won't make the pain go away. Only time will help that. But you can forget tonight if you want."

He splashed whiskey in their cups and set the bottle in front of them.

Farkas looked curiously in his cup before chugging it. Vilkas sipped his and pulled a face.

"Aye lads, it's an acquired taste. But you're nearly 15. You've had a big dose of heartache, and it's time to quit being a milk drinker."

Farkas clenched his muscles, offended. Puberty, and the past few years of hard, self-imposed training were looking very good on him. A milk drinker he was not! Vilkas chugged the rest of his cup and poured more as if echoing his sentiments.

"Easy son, wait till after the service before you end up deep in the cups. That should be starting now."

"Come, Farkas," ordered Vilkas, setting down his cup. "Jergen would want us to see him off to Sovngarde."

He led his brother to pay their final respects to the man who had saved them and given them a home and a family.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Can anyone guess who Anise is supposed to be?**

**That's right! Aela's mom! I wanted to make sure she exists as dead, so Aela can join. She says in game that all the women in her family were Companions, but her mom never lived to see her make it in.**


	4. Trials

In the Harbinger's Quarters, a now familiar argument was ensuing between the twins and Kodlak Whitemane.

"If the dates you've given us are correct, you're only reaching your 16th birthdays this month."

"They are," said Vilkas sourly. "There are many things about my childhood I don't remember, but I can assure you I will not be forgetting mine or Farkas' birth date any time soon."

Kodlak sighed. Since Jergen's death, the already broodier of the two twins had been intractable. "You're still too young."

"But we're able! Abler than some of the whelps you've taken in lately."

Angry at his judgment being questioned by a boy, a growl began in the Harbinger's throat. Still, Kodlak had to appreciate the lad's fire.

It was Vignar Gray-mane who intervened, damn those boys for getting him involved. "Test the boys. He's right. You've picked up some useless strays before. These two already know more of our ways than any newcomer, and could take down a grown man in a fair fight."

"They are not yet 16! If they somehow managed to pass evaluation, I have to start giving them jobs. They could be killed!" argued the Harbinger.

The terrifying part was that he knew the boys were already acceptable with their years of training. He could not bear to risk giving them tasks when he still thought of them as the scrawny foundlings they once were. They were like family to him. They would pass and evaluation they could be put to, and go out of the safety of Jorrvaskr to die.

"We want jobs," pointed out Farkas.

"And not the kind of jobs like being a glorified courier, or serving food in the inn! You can't cosset us forever. Jergen wouldn't want that." added Vilkas.

Vignar cleared his throat. "If I had accepted the challenge of being the Harbinger, I would break traditions far more stupid than this mere matter of age."

Kodlak had had enough. "Fine. You want to become true Companions? I'll test you myself." Drawing up to his full height, he began fastening armor on. "Suit up and meet me in the yard. I'll test you, Farkas since you're larger. Vilkas can fight Skjor since they're closer in size. Fair fights all around."

The twins did not hesitate, but ran to their quarters to retrieve their practice armor and weapons. Vignar followed, laughing.

"It's good to see the old beast so angry. Whoop him good. He's not going to kill you, boys! But he won't hold back either. You'd better be able to withstand a few blows."

In truth Farkas and Vilkas were not sure what to expect. They'd seen other newcomers come, take a few hits and be welcomed in immediately. They'd even seen the Harbinger angry often, just never at them. Mostly at a whelp that was too often drunk, or anyone who disrespected Tilma. His rage of late often seemed to be directed at Arnbjorn for breaking certain tenets of the inner Circle that never seemed to be discussed openly. Vilkas was sure it had something to do with the Silver Hand Skjor mentioned at Jergen's death, and failed to bring up again.

A rapping came at the boys' doorway followed by a red-headed young Nord woman. She was about 20, though she looked younger, and was a recent recruit to the Companions.

"Vignar just left for the yard and told everyone to come and see. He said that Skjor and Kodlak are going to test you boys. Is it true?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, Aela. It's finally our time." Farkas replied proudly, as he finished donning his iron armor.

"What do you mean finally? You're only 15."

"We'll be 16 soon, and we've had a lot of training. Kind of like how Anise trained you well before your time."

Aela nodded sadly. "It's a shame mother was not able to see me join."

"Aye and we would have wished for Jergen to see us on this day." said Farkas with regret in his tone.

The shared moment of sentiment came to an abrupt end as Vilkas selected his sword and cut in. "We need to go. "

"Wait up! Neither of you are ready yet."

"Woman, we've got our armor on. Kodlak is waiting for us _now_!" Vilkas raged. Still he and Farkas waited as Aela ran to the whelp sleeping area and came back holding a small jar.

"You're forgetting war paint. You need to look fierce as well."

Farkas grinned and held still as Aela darkened the area around his ice blue eyes with black paint smears. Vilkas was pleased to see the effect and allowed her to do a similar pattern on his own face.

Farkas hugged the girl gently and said, "Thank you, Aela."

Aela set the jar of black cosmetic down on Vilkas' end table. "You both can keep it. I really only use the teal paint anyway."

Then, the three of them rushed to the yard where it seemed everyone who was home at Jorrvaskr had assembled.

"Best of luck to the both of you!" Aela called and strode off to watch.

It was not common practice to have everyone in attendance to one of these tests. They were not full fights with a victor and injuries did not often occur. Vilkas suspected that the dual attraction of a double fight, and the boys' ages and longstanding history within the Companions had drawn everyone out of the woodwork. If they were judged acceptable to join the ranks, they would be the youngest members in living memory.

Farkas immediately stood before the Harbinger, apparently not at all nervous and seemingly eager to spar with his elder.

Vilkas followed his lead and stopped in front of Skjor.

"I'm not going to hold back, youngster. If you want to go back into the Jorrvaskr, I'm sure that Tilma will be happy to pour you a cup of milk to drink." said the elder man scathingly.

_'You arrogant arse!'_ thought Vilkas. At Vignar's signal, both pairs began to fight. The twins' fighting styles could not have been more different.

Farkas was steady on his feet, and not easy to unbalance. He put all his force into each blow.

Farkas endured a particularly rough blow from Kodlak and was able to come back with his mace twice as hard. The Harbinger, taken by surprise, retaliated with the force of a grown bear. Farkas was knocked to his feet, but scrambled up and kept going.

Vilkas fought ferociously and swiftly, like a wild animal. Although he looked to the untrained eye like ha lacked in all self-preservation, it was obvious that the opposite was true. He was keeping Skjor moving in a deadly looking dance. The lad had struck several times to Skjor's one hit. His anger at being called a milk-drinker by someone he regarded as a friend and mentor was fueling his fight.

Kodlak signaled for a halt and called enough in a booming voice. All four combatants waited to catch a breath before Kodlak proceeded.

"I've seen enough. There is no use railing against the inevitable. Congratulations. You're both in." His tone was not at all congratulatory.

Vilkas spit on the ground. Some of it was blood, but he didn't care.

"Call me a milk-drinker, will you Skjor? What in Oblivion was that!"

Skjor erupted into a fit of laughter, exhausting what little breath he had caught. After he calmed down, he explained. "I'm terribly sorry Vil. I've noticed you get more fired up and fight harder when you're mad. I really wanted you to be sure you gave it your all so we could see your stuff!"

Arnbjorn came up behind the twins and clapped his arms hard against their sore shoulders. "I knew you had it in you," the man said gruffly.

Kodlak came to face Vilkas. "You and your brother try not to get too knackered tonight. I think you'll be getting some of those 'jobs' you wanted, starting tomorrow." and with that Kodlak walked off.

"That was almost too easy, New-Bloods." Aela frowned at the twins. "I think MY initiation was much harder than yours. I think that despite what Vignar said, they were soft on you."

Vilkas rolled his eyes at his friend and now fellow whelp. "If you were waiting to pick on the newest new bloods, Aela, just SAY so!"


	5. Fragments

**Sorry for the long time between updates. I was in a car accident over the weekend with a friend. We are all fine, his car, not so much. I did lose out on a lot of sleep and just wanted some time to regroup.**

**Anyway,** **I started a new playthrough of Skyrim and noticed two major innaccuracies with my story that are just unfixable at this point. When you meet Vilkas, he admits Jergen died in the war, not by the Silver Hand as I wrote. But it's never discussed again.**

**Also I named Aela's mom Anise, COMPLETELY unaware that there is an NPC named Anise who lives in the woods near Whiterun.** **That's actually cool to me. It means that Anise just must be a great name for wild people who live not in towns. I won't change it, on the grounds that there are a ton of Michaels and Sarahs in our world, so there are bound to be people who happen to have the same name in Skyrim.**

* * *

><p>Vilkas wanted to get along with Aela. They'd always gotten along well before being inducted into the Companions. Now however, the girl turned every activity into a constant competition. Was there an errand to be run? Aela was sure she could run it faster. Was meat needed for Jorrvaskr? Leave it to Aela to kill the most animals with her bow. What was worse than all of that was that she seemed to be a rising favorite of most of the Circle. She was often hunting with Skjor, especially, and he no longer seemed to have the extra time to help the twins with their assignments or training. Vilkas only took small comfort in the fact that he was not yet being outshined at intellectual pursuits.<p>

Farkas, divines bless him, sure did not seem to pick up on the tension developing between his brother and Aela. He was taking to his new tasks well. He continued his training daily, and took jobs from Skjor that mostly involved beating people into submission until they promised never to renege on a debt again. The brawny teenager was more than a match for the average man who found himself in such trouble any day. Any day Farkas could beat a guy's face in and get paid for it was a good day to him.

Vilkas was sitting at the main table with a stick of charcoal and a roll of paper. He was trying to draw up a half-decent set of armor to make for himself but could not get motivated. The front door to the Jorrvaskr swung open and Arnbjorn strode in.

"Where's your brother?"

"Farkas? He's on a job, here in town. He had to show a Battle-Born a thing or two about making bets he can't pay up on."

Arnbjorn allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought of one of that insufferable clan pissing his pants as Farkas beat the fear of the divines into him.

"As soon as he gets back, you two come find me. Your lucky day has come and your big task awaits."

"What is this big task?" asked Vilkas curiously.

"Skjor has a location he believes to hold a Fragment of Wuuthrad. You two are coming with me. If we find it, it will be the first piece of Ysgramor's Axe that we'll have ever seen. We'll prove it's not just a legend. More importantly for the two of you, you'll have set yourselves apart from the common whelp."

Vilkas could hardly believe his good fortune! Today, he and Farkas would be able to surpass that insufferable wench Aela in something.

"Now, go get ready, pup. I think I hear your brother on the steps."

Not waiting for a second command, Vilkas raced downstairs, nearly knocking over several trainees who were coming up.

* * *

><p>An entire day of traveling on foot was taking its toll on the twins.<p>

'_Why would Arnbjorn forgo the use of a horse?'_ Vilkas wondered. _'What a pitiful excuse that man had too.'_

"_Horses don't like me," their shield-brother had said._

It sounded like a cover up for some ridiculous phobia.

It was nearly dusk when the men came upon a structure in the ground, like a hollowed out circle with a dilapidated staircase leading down to the bottom. Vilkas knew from his books that it was an Ancient Nordic tomb. The remains of fires in the bottom suggested that vagrants or bandits had been using it as a shelter.

"Should we wait until morning to go in?" Farkas asked.

"Dimwit! It's just as dark on the inside in the day as it is at night."

"Vilkas! Don't call your brother names. You're not too old that I can't turn you over my knee." Arnbjorn threatened.

Farkas laughed aloud as Vilkas flushed a deep crimson in humiliation, but silenced at the elder's warning glare.

"If you lads are done fighting, we'll go in now. But this is just a warning: the dead of our kind don't always stay dead. No one knows why. Stick with me. Fight with your damnedest if you have to."

Vilkas nodded his understanding, and wisely refrained from comment. He had known that it wasn't going to be a merry skip through a crypt and out. He was in fact, hoping to spill a little blood; just not the dried ancient blood of an animated corpse. That sounded positively revolting.

Arnbjorn tested the door and found it unlocked.

"Good news gentlemen," said the old man with a grin, "we're in."

The stench of ancient death was not quite as bad as something that was still recently decomposing, Farkas had decided. The tiny expedition into the tomb was so far, successful, if by success one meant simply still alive. They had not found anything that looked like it might be a piece of Ysgramor's legendary shattered axe.

They had killed four of the wretched undead Draugr that guarded the crypts, and that was no easy feat.

"Well lads, this trip is turning out to be a bust. There's only one more place we haven't looked. I'm beginning to think Skjor's books are inaccurate!" Arnbjorn finally spoke.

"Well let's go to that last place. It's got to be there!" Farkas cried optimistically, darting for the last unchecked doorway.

"Farkas! Wait!" Arnbjorn hissed. "I hear voices in there."

The trio pressed their ears to the door as muffled voices floated through.

"…_dirty mongrels… won't get…..one."_

"Whoever they are, it's not Draugr. Should we go in?" Vilkas asked.

Arnbjorn didn't answer, but kicked in the door.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite filthy mutt? I was just thinking it's about time to put you down!" jeered a cruel looking redguard woman.

"Do you know her, master?" Farkas asked Arnbjorn curiously.

"Aww, you brought some puppies for me to play with! Luckily I have plenty of toys…" the woman displayed a multitude of daggers on her belt.

"Pirella." Arnbjorn growled in a low voice.

"You remembered!" the redguard said in a delighted voice.

"How could I forget? You gave me this." Arnbjorn said sourly, indicating a jagged scar on his forearm.

Pirella pulled a gleaming silver dagger from the sheath at her waist and gave a wicked grin. "I'll be more than happy to mark your puppies to match."

"Nords aren't dogs, lady. We're men!" Vilkas yelled, tired of being insulted and ignored.

"I'm no racist, boy! I've taken Nordic men in my bed before." The redguard woman replied sweetly. Then her demeanor changed. "I just hate Companions."

Pirella spit on the ground in front of Arnbjorn's feet. That was provocation enough. He leapt on her before drawing his axe and made as if to rip her very head from her body.

Farkas took the action as his cue to move in swinging his weapon, but surprisingly, it was Vilkas who drew the first blood. Pirella plunged her silver dagger into Arnbjorn's shoulder joint, and he screamed in pain, dropping the woman. She made to get up but Vilkas ran her through with her sword.

Pirella lay on the floor of the crypt, blood gurgling out of her mouth as she struggled to speak. It was too late. Whatever she had been about to say died with the blood on her lips.

Arnbjorn was still lying on the floor gasping with his injury. Farkas pulled the dagger out and cast it aside. After 10 long minutes, Arnbjorn was at least able to speak and he asked Vilkas for a health potion. Vilkas handed it over and Arnbjorn downed it, sighing as some pain was relieved. The wound was black and looked necrotic.

"I've never seen a poison that did this!" Vilkas exclaimed. "Farkas! Check the dead bitch for more of it. We need to get Arn to a healer and they may know what it is."

"NO!" Gasped Arnbjorn.

Farkas was already rummaging through Pirella's belongings, fruitlessly. "No poison, brother."

"There won't be. I'm fine. I won't need to see a healer. It'll just be another nasty scar with a story to tell." Arnbjorn assured the boys.

"I found something." Farkas said simply.

"Well what is it?"

Farkas deposited a cloth wrapped bundle in front of the other two. Vilkas opened it and saw a scrap of metal and a book. The metal was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It had some ornate engravings in it, very similar to modern Nordic engravings, but also a lot like what could be seen in the area's crypts. The book was leather-bound and new. He was disappointed to see that much of it was blank, and what little in the book was written by hand, and not printed on a press.

He examined the writing and saw a familiar word. Wuuthrad.

"This is it! She had what we came for!"

Arnbjorn gaped at the fragment and book. "Skjor will need to see these. We need to get home to Jorrvaskr. The sooner we get there, the better." He winced rubbing his damaged shoulder.


	6. Invitation

As luck would have it, a very displeased Harbinger was waiting for the trio before they ever even made it inside Whiterun. Unfortunately for Vilkas and Farkas, most of the anger had to do with the fact that they had gone on the errand with Arnbjorn.

"I thought he said we'd make a name for ourselves if we got the fragment." Farkas whispered grumpily.

Vilkas clutched the package tightly, angry at the injustice of it all. They'd done nothing wrong. The trip hadn't gone that badly. He'd killed his first person, and no matter how wrong he knew it was, he'd liked it. They came out with the fragment of Wuuthrad that Skjor had been researching. Arnbjorn even seemed to be doing better. Surely Kodlak wasn't going to ream them out for his new wound. The entire Circle carried scars similar to that in various places.

Still when Kodlak barred the boys from following Arnbjorn into the Harbinger's chambers and shut the door, they knew there would be trouble. That assessment proved correct, at least, for Arnbjorn. Their injured mentor soon opened the door and strode over to them.

"Don't worry. Neither of you are in trouble. Kodlak still wants to speak to you now."

Farkas and Vilkas smiled in a mixture of relief and apprehension. "Thanks for talking to him."

"Don't mention it. Now you boys come here."

The stood closer to him and after a moment of reflection, he gave them each a rough semblance of a hug in turn.

"Don't get weepy or nothing," he said gruffly, "but you won't be seeing much of me anymore."

"What? Did you get kicked out?"

Arnbjorn gave Vilkas a strange smile. "No, I did not get 'kicked out' Vilkas. But we agreed that this place isn't the best fit for me. Don't you worry about me. I have friends in dark places to help me out."

With that, Arnbjorn left to pack his meager belongings and depart Jorrvaskr forever.

"Come on, come on!" Kodlak Whiteman was urging the twins to step into his quarters.

Still a little shocked at the sudden loss of their friend, they trudged in slowly.

"Sit." Commanded the Harbinger, and each boy obeyed.

Kodlak cracked his knuckles and looked around the room for a moment when a knock came at his door.

"Come in!"

Skjor appeared in the doorway. He nodded at the boys and then turned to Kodlak. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, I did. It would appear that young Farkas and Vilkas have found something that is of interest to us all."

Vilkas took this as a cue to unroll the cloth bundle onto Kodlak's table. The metal fragment and book landed neatly beside one another before Skjor's stunned eyes. The older man immediately picked up the shard and examined it.

"Wuuthrad..." he breathed.

"That's not all. This book might be a clue to help you find more."

A grin spread across Skjor's scarred face. "I told Vignar that it was real! I can't wait to rub this in the old dog's face now!"

Vilkas could imagine what the old Companion would say already_: 'Well Skjor, it seems you're not as dumb as you look.'_

Skjor thanked the boys effusively and took his leave with the contents of the bundle.

"Are you mad at us, Harbinger?" Farkas asked, cutting to the heart of why he was there.

"Not anymore. Arnbjorn explained to me that he was the one responsible for this. I'll never know why he thought it was appropriate to take the youngest whelps Jorrvaskr's ever seen to such a dangerous place."

"We were fine!" Vilkas said nonchalantly.

"Why does Arnbjorn have to leave?" Farkas asked pleadingly.

"He wanted to leave, lad. He's never been a fan of the way we do things here."

The boys accepted the answer and sat with lowered heads for a moment while Kodlak appeared to be deep in thought.

"You are both to be commended. Leaving or not, Arnbjorn would vouch for you. Skjor definitely would. And for that matter, so would I." He paused before continuing on to the hard part. "Jergen would be proud of the fine young men he helped to raise. I am sorry I was so reluctant to see you take on a man's tasks. Come to the Underforge tonight. Skjor and I would like to extend an invitation for you both to join the Circle."

With Arnbjorn gone, Skjor and Kodlak were the full Circle. Depleted though the Circle may be, Farkas and Vilkas were still excited to finally be joining. The rituals were incredibly secretive. Not even old Tilma knew what went on during an induction to the Circle's ranks. Vignar Gray-mane claimed to know, but only because he had been offered a place and declined. But old Vignar wasn't telling.

"We would be honored, Harbinger." Vilkas replied for the both of them.


	7. Changes

Nightfall had a strange way of taking forever to arrive, Farkas noticed, when he was waiting for something good. He would be sure to ask his brother about why that happened. If he could find the time to speak to Vilkas, that was.

Tilma had asked Farkas to chop some firewood for cooking and heating water again. He never minded helping the kind old woman, and was happy to have busy work to help the day pass. It also kept him from having to think too hard about why Jorrvaskr seemed so empty.

His father Jergen had passed. Arnbjorn left, unsatisfied with having his actions called into question. Skjor was training with Aela, who was simply the best archer since her mother had been alive. Imagining the old dog learning a new trick from a feisty whelp like Aela was a funny thought and Farkas chuckled as he split logs.

All the other new bloods had made themselves scarce knowing they weren't being watched as well today. Kodlak had, in Skjor's absence, asked Vilkas to help him decipher more information from that leather bound journal they'd found on the woman they'd killed.

Farkas kept chopping until he realized he'd made such a pile that it would fall over if Tilma tried to take any firewood. He stopped to stack it neatly and when his brother approached him in a failed attempt at stealth.

"Why are you crouched behind the wood, Vil?"

"Ssshhh!" his twin hissed. "Finish whatever you're doing and follow me."

Farkas was baffled at his brother's truly uncharacteristic behavior. Perhaps there was a girl involved? Either way, this seemed like a rare opportunity to catch Vilkas make an ass out of himself, so Farkas dropped his axe and followed obediently. Vilkas made for the Bannered Mare, sneaking behind buildings and avoiding the public paths. Whatever this was had to be important. Finally they came to a stop behind the inn, where no one usually went.

"So why are we hiding?" Farkas asked in a low whisper.

Vilkas looked around nervously, and then leaned in close to his brother.

"I think we should skip the ceremony tonight. I overheard Kodlak and Skjor talking about a blood ritual," he said with a shudder.

"What! How could they? I thought we would be safe from magic here," Farkas complained bitterly.

No wonder Vilkas was so upset. They'd spent a year of their young lives exposed to and being forced to partake in blood magic, as prisoners and unwilling assistants. Kodlak knew this more than anyone left at Jorrvaskr, and still he wanted to open a wound in this way? Farkas couldn't remember ever feeling so betrayed. It was too unreal. In fact, maybe it wasn't real…

Vilkas wrinkled his nose in distaste before adding, "Aela's name was mentioned too. She'll probably be involved in this mess tonight as well."

"She would know what happens. Her mother was in the Circle up until she died. Surely Aela would have overheard something in her lifetime."

"Maybe you should ask her what she knows. She doesn't seem at all bothered," replied Vilkas.

Farkas agreed, and grinned happily at the prospect of talking to Aela. She picked on him, but it was all in good fun, and when it counted, she was very nice. She was a great huntress too, and very helpful with learning the bow. He couldn't catch on, but she helped newer recruits all the time. At least, she was helpful when she wasn't taking jobs with Skjor. Skjor seemed to have taken to the younger redheaded girl instantly. They shared a common love of hunting and the pair brought in the bulk of the meat for Jorrvaskr. Farkas was aware of a slight rivalry between his twin and the girl, but those kinds of things were bound to happen between two such overachievers. Farkas took his leave to find the woman and question her.

* * *

><p>It seemed Aela knew something, but her lips were sealed. Farkas knew his wits were no match for the woman's, and cracking her would be next to impossible. He'd have to return to Vilkas and disappoint his brother. First though, he'd eat dinner. The sun was starting to meet the horizon, so he should have enough time for a meal before he was to meet his fate.<p>

Farkas pushed his straggly dark hair back out of his face and entered Jorrvaskr. The smell of roasted goat meat met his nostrils and started his stomach to rumbling. He saw his twin sitting alone at one end of the table, staring sullenly at Skjor and Kodlak at the other end. The two didn't notice Vilkas' sharp glare. Farkas plopped down into the seat beside his brother and immediately began filling the empty plate from the platters in the middle of the table.

Vilkas kicked his brother under the table.

"Ow. What in Oblivion was that for?"

"Did you forget? "

"Forget what?" Asked Farkas between bites of baked potato.

Gods, was his brother ever dense. Vilkas sighed and tried to compose himself before asking again. "Did you get to speak to Aela?"

Farkas nodded and swallowed his food before replying, "Yeah and I think she knows something but she ain't tellin'."

"We need to talk to Kodlak then. We'll tell him we're not doing anything that involves blood magic."

"Hold on now, Vil. Aela may not exactly have been forthcoming with information, but she's not worried. Why should we be?"

Vilkas blinked. Was this possibly the wisest thing Farkas had ever said?

Farkas took a swig of his honeyed mead and continued, "Besides, we may be young, but we're no milk-drinkers. We can't run from the past forever."

Not wanting to admit his brother was right, Vilkas looked down at his plate and began to pick at his food. His normally hearty appetite was gone. He glanced up when he saw Kodlak lead Skjor and Aela out through the back. The sun was well down, he noticed while the door was open. Time was up.

* * *

><p>Aela was giddy as she waited in the Underforge. Skjor had told her a week ago that she had earned a place in the Circle for her fierce nature, skills in combat and hunting, and dedication to the Companions. Kodlak though, had insisted the ceremony wait until it could coincide with the twins' as well.<p>

"I'm not so ignorant as to believe your mother never once told you any of what goes on," Kodlak had said.

He was right of course, though Aela never felt it safe to confirm or deny what she knew. Luckily the issue was not pressed, more than for Kodlak to ask her if she felt up to the challenge.

"I am up to any challenge," had been her reply.

Now here she was, underneath the legendary Skyforge with her two elders, waiting for her Shield-brothers so that the ritual could commence. Strange that Farkas had tried to pry what little she knew of what was to come out of her. Snooping for information was usually Vilkas' thing. Perhaps he'd been put up to it.

Skjor brought her out of her thoughts by grasping her hand. "If you've any doubts," he began, "you can tell me. I've no doubt you're brave enough to face anything, but I still don't want you to be alarmed when you see what is to come."

Aela smiled up at him, uncertain if he could even see her face by the faint light that came into the Underforge. "I'm sure I'll handle this like a true Companion."

"That's my girl." Skjor patted Aela kindly and when to the entryway of the Underforge. It seemed he'd heard something she hadn't. He slid the secret stone door out of the way to reveal the twins who were only just arriving from dinner.

"So this is where you disappear to from time to time," Vilkas stated.

"Nice observation, pup. You'll be visiting here too occasionally. If you survive tonight, that is." Skjor said in a half joking manner.

Vilkas scowled, but entered. Farkas followed silently. Skjor led them further in to stand at a strange stone basin in the center of the room.

"I'm glad you finally decided to join us. Now if you three are ready, I am going to show you something that will change your lives," Kodlak said.

He closed his eyes tightly in the moonlight and assumed an air of deep concentration. Before their very eyes, the older man began to sprout a thick dark coat of fur.

"By the divines, what is this?" Vilkas cried in a panic.

Kodlak opened his eyes and their normal color was replaced by a feral yellow glow. He opened his mouth to speak, but what he might have said was garbled as his face began to stretch into a muzzle with pointed teeth. He shrugged off his armor as not to damage it. Just in time, it seemed, because his bone structure began to warp.

Skjor picked up the explaining, since his Harbinger was finding speech difficult in the midst of transformation. "We in the Circle have been blessed by Hircine. We can be as ferocious as wild beasts. This makes us better warriors and hunters."

Kodlak's shape shifting seemed to be complete, and he stood bipedal at the stone basin.

"It is a choice you make now," the werewolf growled. Clearly, speaking in this form was not easy for him.

Vilkas could scarcely reconcile with the fact that his Harbinger, his family, was now in front of him in this beastly form. "Is he going to bite us? Make us one of those?"

The werewolf flashed a pointy toothed grin and made a strange growling sound that mimicked laughter, and Skjor himself chuckled.

"How barbaric! He's not going to bite you," the man said. He pulled out an ornate dagger carved with some kind of totemic markings and crossed to the wolf.

The wolf- no, Kodlak raised his furry forearm and Skjor held him steady over the basin. With a quick motion, he slit the skin and allowed a large quantity of blood to flow into the stone basin. Aela seemed to know what was expected and looked down into the dark blood.

"Are you ready, my dear?" Skjor asked.

She nodded proudly and dipped a hand into the blood and brought it up to her lips.

'My dear?' Vilkas mouthed at her questioningly.

Aela flushed, but kept her concentration on the blood in her palm. She took a breath and let it run into her mouth. Some dribbled down her front, through her fingertips and stained her neck red. It seemed barbaric, and not at all magical. There were no strange words, no pungent herbs. No one was even being killed to provide the blood. Kodlak's arm was already healing.

Farkas and Vilkas cupped their hands and reached into the fount. They didn't like this idea, but it seemed less like a choice and more like a requirement. If they tried to leave, what would happen? Skjor wasn't exactly holding them at knifepoint and forcing them to participate, but there was a look in his good eye that seemed to convey a sense that they would be dishonored if they did not.

Farkas stole a glance at Aela and noticed she was sweating profusely, despite the chill in the air. She began shedding her armor and fanning herself. He looked away to preserve her modesty, because very soon she would be nude. The woman really didn't wear much in the way of clothing. Farkas wrinkled his nose and swallowed a mouthful of his mentor's lifeblood.

Vilkas had already done so himself. Now was not the time to chicken out. No one here would call the twins milk-drinkers.

Suddenly, a strange sensation filled Farkas' body. It felt like all his blood was rushing out of the veins to fill his skin freely. It was so hot. Was he bleeding out? His vision faded at the edges and he couldn't tell if he was breathing. He forced himself to look for his brother. Vilkas was on the floor, naked and writhing in what looked like pain. He shoved his armor off too as it felt constricting, too tight. Even nude, he felt so warm in the night's cold. There was pain, but he didn't feel anything anymore. Was this death?

Then he remembered nothing.


	8. Awake

Skjor winced as the three new Circle members suffered from the effects of their first transformations. The first time was inarguably the slowest and most painful change. Kodlak stood at the ready to guide the new wolves out of the secret exit to the plains. Aela was the first wolf to rise to her feet, though she only rose to four legs instead of her full height. She had remarkable control in that she didn't bolt for the door right away; neither did she try to attack a shield-brother. The twins were still vulnerable as the transformation occurred. She did not seem to recognize Skjor by sight, but she spent time investigating him with her nose, and did not attack him either.

Vilkas was the next wolf to get up, and he was clearly panicked. Farkas was not getting up right away. Kodlak ran back and ushered the two new wolves out of the Underforge through the plains. He yipped a command to run at them, and as Alpha as he was, the new werewolves could only obey, no matter what wishes their human minds held.

Skjor was already slipping into werewolf form now, as quickly as possible. The last time he'd seen a transformation take this long, the new Circle member had not been able to dominate the wolf in his mind. That man had stayed in wolf form and gone feral, abandoning his vows to the Circle and the Companions, abandoning even his humanity.

Kodlak returned after being sure Vilkas and Aela were shooed away to run on the plains. He was not too worried. They'd conquered their wolves easily and would only hunt deer and rabbits.

Farkas suddenly rose to his hind legs and let out a fierce howl that echoed in the small space. He snapped at Skjor, now also a wolf and dodged his mentor's attempts to restrain him.

"Not good!" Growled Skjor in a guttural wolfish voice to Kodlak.

Farkas was escaping. He did not head for the plains like his brother, but instead to the stone door to Whiterun. He managed the mechanism that slid the door open and bolted beyond Jorrvaskr's training yard and into the nearly empty city streets. An unlucky drunken beggar was wandering around behind the Shrine of Talos and Farkas leapt on the man, snapping his spine at impact. He savaged the man and began devouring the entrails as they were steaming in the frosty air. He howled again and dug his claws into the corpse, shredding it and flinging blood around him. Blood dripped from his black muzzle when suddenly, wolf was sated. Farkas came back to himself and stopped instantly. He felt regret and revulsion for what he had done and began to whimper.

Skjor had been prepared to kill the other werewolf. It was unfortunate that such a thing had happened to Farkas. He was quite fond of the man, when they were human. But some men didn't have what it took to control the feral nature of the beast. He came upon an appalling scene of carnage, with Farkas in the middle of it. Skjor ignored his own beast's desire to partake in the feast and approached with caution. To his relief, it seemed Farkas had reigned over the animal he was. However, they were all now in danger. Surely guards had heard this commotion and were on the way. Skjor grabbed the skin at the scruff of Farkas' neck in his teeth and pulled. Farkas followed obediently back to the Underforge where he curled up, traumatized to sleep off his wolf.

During the commotion, Skjor realized in a panic that he had lost Aela and Vilkas, and Kodlak had not followed the other two wolves. Kodlak himself lay down near Farkas, not to sleep, but to guard against him leaving again. Skjor wanted to find Aela, but if he didn't get rid of the blood leading to the Skyforge, it could be traced to the Companions. He let his wolf leave him, unsatisfied that he'd not gotten to hunt. Finding his clothing in the corner, he dressed quickly and left the Underforge. Sure enough Guards had already discovered the drunkard's body. His sensitive nose detected the disgusting smell of innards, offal, blood and vomit. Clearly a guard hadn't been able to keep his last meal down after seeing the mangled mess at the Shrine. Skjor silently pulled up all grass around Jorrvaskr with blood on it. No easy task in the dark. When he was confident that a path to the Skyforge wouldn't be detectable, he went inside and whispered a silent prayer to Hircine to protect Aela and Vilkas, who were without guidance on this night.

* * *

><p><em>Blood. Heartbeats. Food?<em>

_Chase food. Kill it. Eat it._

There was a new presence in Vilkas' mind, and that presence wanted to hunt. A desire to taste fresh hot blood was what drove him. He followed the other wolf, a she-wolf who seemed familiar to the edges of the woods around Whiterun.

His human mind nagged him with thoughts of safety and comfort, but his new consciousness won out. He needed to feed on fresh meat. He needed to kill it himself.

_It works better when you don't fight it, but work together with it, _Vilkas thought.

He gave in to the bloodlust and hunted with the she-wolf who was Aela. Together they brought down a huge deer and tore into it. Chunks of meat went down each wolf's throat until the carcass was stripped of meat. No longer as hungry, Vilkas found he had more choice in what he did in this form. He chose to run and run, knowing he should avoid the roads and humans and their homes.

This freedom was amazing. The heightened senses were incredible. Aela seemed exultant in her new form; as if this was the body she had waited her entire life to have. She challenged him to run with her and the wolves raced through the blackness of night.

The first sunbeams of the morning were what woke Vilkas. He wasn't sure why they were waking him. His underground bedroom didn't have a window, he thought. His pillow was terribly lumpy as well, and smelled like a dead bird. He suddenly realized his head was resting on a chicken corpse.

"What in Oblivion?" Then it all came rushing back to him. The Beast blood, Kodlak, Skjor, Aela, and Farkas. Where was Farkas? He stood up in the middle of a farm yard, dismayed to realize he was on the Battle-Born's property and had apparently killed several of their hens. They had a farm on the outskirts of Whiterun, and here he was, Vilkas of the Companions, naked. He had slaughtered their hens, and woke up naked in their yard.

With his newly sharpened senses of smell and hearing, he could tell that the Battle-born farmers were still eating breakfast. Was that bacon he smelled? He'd be able to get away before being seen, but he could NOT stride into Whiterun naked. There was a shed adjacent to the farmhouse. Hopefully there would be some clothing in there that would fit him. He crept in and sure enough, found a pair of overalls used for farm work. There was no shirt, and the boots were much too small for his large feet. The coveralls at least, fit fine, and more importantly, preserved his modesty. Now if only the same thing could be said for his dignity. He'd be a laughingstock, returning to town without his armor and looking like a farmhand who couldn't afford boots or bathwater.

* * *

><p>Farkas awoke in the Underforge, in a crumpled heap. He was alone, and without clothes. Luckily a fresh tunic and trousers had been laid out in his size, along with a note from Skjor.<p>

He took a moment with his aching head to read it properly, and because reading wasn't his strongest skill. But it was short and only advised him to meet Kodlak and Skjor in the Harbinger's quarters.

Freshly clothed, he decided to do just that. But first he needed some water to get the foul taste out of his mouth.

* * *

><p>Vilkas entered town through the secret tunnel and came out of the Underforge grinning. No one had seen him in that ridiculous pair of overalls and his armor had still been in the corner of the Underforge. He strode confidently into Jorrvaskr and right into Aela. He was irritated by the fact that she looked positively chipper, and clean to boot. When had she gotten back? Apparently much earlier than him.<p>

"You need a bath. You're filthy and you smell like manure and wet dog," stated the redhead.

"How thoughtful of you to point out the obvious, Aela."

"Don't mention it. You should see to your brother when you're done. Skjor said he had a rough time of it last night," she added cryptically.

Vilkas' heart stood still in his chest for a moment. Was his twin injured? A bath could wait. He rushed downstairs to find Farkas, but his brother was not in his room. Where could he be?

Skjor poked his head around the doorway, a look of relief on his scarred face.

"Good, you made it back in one piece."

"Where is my brother? Is he hurt?"

Skjor made a motion pointing to the bathing room. "He's fine now, Vil. He doesn't remember a thing." Then he added gravely, "Ignorance is bliss."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Vilkas pleaded.

"We intend to, after you've bathed. You may not mind smelling like shit, but some of us have delicate noses!" Skjor replied as he waved the air in front of his nose for emphasis.

Vilkas flushed to the roots of his hair, heartily embarrassed and nodded. He'd gotten the message.

"Oh and Vilkas? You have feathers in your hair."


	9. Guard Duty

The discussion that followed Vilkas' bath was entirely inappropriate for the breakfast table. He wouldn't disgrace himself by turning green or vomiting in Kodlak's sitting parlor, but he did set his bitten apple back on the table carefully.

"He ate him? Farkas ate the town drunk?"

"Most of him," Skjor replied. The description that followed ensured that Vilkas would not finish his apple at all.

"Where's the rest of him?" asked Vilkas slowly, not sure if he actually wanted to know.

Kodlak crossed his arms and glared at Skjor. "Somebody was too worried about a she-wolf and didn't collect the corpse in time. The guards found the body immediately."

Skjor pointedly ignored the jibe about Aela. "I did get rid of the bloody trail leading back to us," he said defensively.

"Ah yes. That is true. However, the blood is the least of our worries. Several citizens reported wolves howling in town last night, so this morning, the Captain of the Guard issued an exorbitant bounty on wolves. Normal wolves."

"So our secret is safe," Vilkas said with relief.

"For now. In addition to keeping our heads down, we have informed your brother he is not to transform without a Shield-brother present. We're not sure why he had so much trouble with his wolf. Did you or Aela have much difficulty?" Skjor inquired.

"I think drinking the blood bothered him," Vilkas began hesitantly; "it bothered me as well. It brought back terrible memories of before we came to live here. As far as the beast inside goes, I learned that it is easier to work with the creature in me than to fight it. Farkas is more likely to have fought it."

Kodlak nodded approvingly. Vilkas was a very intelligent youth to have caught on so well. He had a fire in his soul that was a match for having a beast spirit.

"Sir? Does Farkas know that he ate a man?"

"No! By the gods, son, do you think we're so cruel that we would tell him over breakfast? We were actually hoping to get your input on the situation first." Kodlak explained.

Vilkas mulled it over for a moment. He was good about keeping his head, even when he was dealing with the fact that his twin had disemboweled and partially eaten a man.

"I don't think you should tell him at all," he finally said. "You should just tell him he almost ran away or something. Farkas looks tough, and he is tough. But his soul is gentle. Romantic even. This might be too much of a shock to his system."

Skjor nodded, but added gravely, "What if he eats someone else? We can't let this continue. We'd have to kill him."

Vilkas looked up at the older man with fire in his eyes. What he wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue. _'What if your precious Aela had eaten that man instead of my brother?'_

"I won't let him lose control again," was what he said instead.

Kodlak cleared his throat to call attention.

"Now, we can't really punish Farkas because he wasn't in any state to comprehend his actions. His first turning did cause a lot of problems for the city's guards. Therefore, I _suggest _that you and your brother offer them some help with their other duties for a while." Kodlak's suggestion didn't sound like a suggestion so much as an order.

"And to keep an eye on them to make sure they keep thinking it was a real wolf?" Vilkas inquired.

Skjor laughed heartily. "You're right Kodlak. He does catch on quick."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry for the pitifully small update today! I've got a lot planned for this, but this portion of what I wrote doesn't fit in well with the next chapter so it sits alone.<strong>


	10. A Test

"So what do you do up at Jorrvaskr? Fetch the mead?" The Whiterun guard who happened to be partnered with Vilkas erupted into gales of laughter.

Vilkas tried to pretend like he hadn't heard the same lame jokes about a thousand times this week. He would much prefer to have been working in silence. All he had to do was stand here and look imposing. The solemn teen was good at that. His newly improved hearing was a curse when he had to put up with the raucous laughter and half-drunk banter these fellows made him endure.

"You know," the guard went on oblivious to the fact that Vilkas was growing irritated with him, "you kind of look like that other guy at Jorrvaskr…"

_Seriously?_ thought Vilkas. How did this guy even get a job with the guard? But he answered with a calm he did not feel. "I do have a twin brother. He's on the plains hunting wolves with some more of your men today."

"Oh right! Say, do you think they killed that man-eater yet?" asked the guard hopefully.

Vilkas nodded a little too quickly. "Surely they did. There have been wolf corpses hauled in each day. I doubt we'll see another killing in Whiterun!"

"Don't be too quick to think that, lad. We saw a paw print near the kill. That beast had to have been monstrous. None of the wolves that've been brought in could _possibly_ be big enough to be it."

Vilkas winced at this revelation. The Harbinger and Skjor would want to know about that print Farkas had left behind.

Just then, a fresh guard crew came up to relieve them. Vilkas was off the hook for the day! He could go collect his daily stipend too and spend it in the Bannered Mare on drink. He had been surprised to be compensated monetarily the first shift he'd taken with the guard, having been under the impression that Kodlak had volunteered Farkas and him to work for free. The Captain of the guard had handed them both small bags of septims each day, with bounty in addition if they brought in dead wolves.

'_If we didn't take the money, it would look suspicious.' _Vilkas thought as he accepted his day's pay.

He decided to hold off on going to the Inn until Farkas returned from his shift with the guards. His twin would want to go too. Jorrvaskr would have some mead and food anyway, provided the recent recruits hadn't hogged it all.

It was good to have new blood in the hall, but it was also more work for the Circle. Vilkas found himself giving more weapons training lately, which gave him an odd mix of irritation and pride.

Kodlak and Skjor had thrown caution to the wind and were away weekly trying to recover pieces of Ysgramor's axe. To the delight of all, they'd managed to find three more fragments of Wuuthrad since the one Arnbjorn and the twins had found. Vilkas hoped that they were still home this afternoon so he could tell them about the paw print problem.

Before he made it to the steps, he was stopped by a stranger. A scrawny fellow in plain attire tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"What do you want, milk drinker?" Vilkas snapped, disliking the invasion of his personal space.

"I've been looking for you. Someone sent you a letter." The courier fished around in his bag and pulled out a folded piece of parchment sealed with stamped wax.

"Who's it from?" asked the Companion, flicking a single septim toward the courier.

"They didn't say. Sorry." Then the courier dashed off down the busy road and was lost in the crowd.

Vilkas broke the seal and opened the letter to read.

_**Dearest pups;**_

_**I hope this letter finds you well. I am well and have found gainful employment. In the course of my work, I found some information regarding your family that may interest you both. There is an old woman in the town of Falkreath who had a daughter who may have been your mother. She spoke of her daughter having eyes like ice and snow, who married, moved away and later gave birth to twin sons. All evidence points to the two of you.**_

_**-Arn**_

_**P.S. Don't try to reply, the Courier won't be able to find me.**_

The handwriting looked familiar enough. The letter was short and straight to the point, the way Arnbjorn always had been. Vilkas had no doubt that the letter was genuine, but what to do with the information inside? He knew Farkas regarded the Companions as his family, even referring to Jergen in memories and stories as 'Father.' As for Vilkas himself? He was intrigued that a blood relative of his might still live, but what good did it do him? He was a man now, doing a man's job and he needed no further parenting. He also didn't need to beg this woman who might be his grandmother for shelter. The Jorrvaskr was home to him. He folded the paper over and slipped it into his pocket before continuing inside.

"They still think it's a regular wolf. The problem is, they got a good look at Farkas's paw print and they're not going to stop hunting wolves until they've caught one to match the size," Vilkas informed his Harbinger.

Kodlak stroked his facial hair thoughtfully. He knew that Whiterun would never see such a wolf, because only lycanthropes got that large. While the guard was doubled at night, it would be harder to allow the Circle to roam the plains as beasts. Skjor was most vocal in his complaints against Kodlak's advice that he restrict his transformations for the duration.

"Also Harbinger, I hate to be a problem…" Vilkas sighed, and then continued. "It's about Farkas. I know he's not the brightest but I hardly think having Aela call him ice-brains is good for morale. It makes the new-bloods think they can walk all over him too."

There was an even bigger problem growing in the ranks of the Companions. Aela and Skjor had taken to calling Farkas names when Vilkas wasn't around to defend his twin. Kodlak had overheard and suspected that the pair were taking out their frustrations at being trapped in their human bodies on the one they perceived to be at fault for the fiasco.

"I will have a talk with everyone. Although I'm not excusing their actions, I believe their wolves are wearing their patience thin."

"Thank you sir," Vilkas replied gratefully.

Kodlak smiled suddenly as if remembering something amusing. "Vilkas my boy, there was a girl that came calling earlier looking for a place among our numbers. I sent her to the training yard to wait for me, but since you're here, would you mind doing the honors?"

Vilkas gaped at Kodlak like he'd grown a second head. "Me? You want me to test her strength Master?"

Kodlak winced at the honorific, but said only, "If you're up to it, I would like to see you do this."

They went upstairs and through the back door to the yard. A haughty looking Nord woman stood leaning against the stone wall near the practice dummies.

_Look at her, getting comfortable like she already belongs here. I'll fix that for her. _

Vilkas' smile was artificial, but he extended his hand in welcome as he approached her.

"My name's Vilkas and I'm to have a look at your fighting skill."

The woman looked to be Aela's age. She eyed Vilkas critically and he knew she was finding fault with his youth already. He stiffened as she ignored his handshake offer and spat on the ground.

"The name's Njada. Njada Stonearm. I really don't have time for pleasantries, so let's get started."

Vilkas smiled grimly. He would enjoy putting this one in her place. He pulled out his sword but Njada shook her head.

"I thought we should do this hand to hand."

Vilkas was slightly surprised a hearing a woman offer to brawl, but was careful not to show it. He'd practiced many times with his brother, with Skjor, with Arn, and even Kodlak. He couldn't remember Aela ever offering though. He laid his weapons to the side carefully and stepped up to Njada. They assumed a fighting stance and waited for Kodlak's signal.

At the sharp whistle the Harbinger let out, Vilkas threw his first punch. With pleasure, he hit the arrogant girl on in the face, feeling his fist connect with her nose. There was a satisfying crunch and blood poured from her nostril. She tried to hit him, but he held his arm up and deflected her punch from hitting his face. It helped that he was taller as well. The brawlers circled and Njada was a quick learner. She never repeated her first mistake and Vilkas found it difficult to get a second punch in.

By now, a sizeable crowd had gathered to cheer on the brawlers. Feeling confident, Vilkas accidentally let his guard down to scan the crowd for Farkas. Njada took advantage of the moment's distraction and hit him squarely in the jaw. The girl had quite a punch! He tasted blood, but didn't feel a loose tooth, thank the divines. The wolf deep inside Vilkas was awakened by the coppery taste and began looking through his eyes at the girl. The urge to kill rising, Vilkas suddenly pulled back his punch and yelled enough. Kodlak and Skjor nodded to him approvingly.

Njada was feeling her injured nose and Kodlak laid a hand on her shoulder. "You've got potential girl, and more importantly, you've a fire inside. You gave almost as good as you got, and you took a killer punch."

"Thank you, Harbinger."

Kodlak smiled and put an arm around Vilkas. Quietly he said to him, "I saw your eyes change. Only for a second. I'm glad you knew when to stop. That shows admirable restraint."

"Thank you, sir."

Vilkas realized this had been as much of a test for him as it was for the new-blood.

"Now," Kodlak said kindly, "why don't you accompany her to the Temple of Kynareth to get patched up?"

Vilkas nodded to Kodlak, rubbing his jaw and turned to Njada.

"Come along, new-blood. Let's go keep the temple in business."


End file.
